


This Time, Baby (We Won't Be In And Out of Love)

by Mahoroba



Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games), Mortal Kombat - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Black Character(s), F/M, Female Character of Color, Goro - Freeform, Not as explicit as it could be, Past Johnny Cage/Sonya Blade, Quan Chi - Freeform, Raiden (if you squint), Romance, past and future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 14:58:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18640438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mahoroba/pseuds/Mahoroba
Summary: Ava Loveless wasn't expecting to actually LIKE Johnny Cage, let alone end up having a thing for him.A Johnny Cage/OC story that absolutely no one asked for.





	1. This time, this time, baby

Normally, Ava Loveless didn’t pay any attention to the conventions that came and went in her town – like many natives, she bitched about the traffic and the general disruption that happened to long habits, but actually attending them was a completely different matter. And, if anyone had asked her, she wouldn’t have anticipated any change in that. Not even celebrities were enough to lure her in – as she grimaced from behind the wheel of her beat up car. The crossed arms and shit eating grin of Johnny Cage stared down at her from the “Fitness Function” convention billboard, the tilt of his smile suggesting a good work out, _if you know what he means_.

 

“Asshole,” Ava huffed.

 

“Who?” Her passenger glanced over at her. With big, black eyes and long eyelashes, Rami Mistry looked all the world for a doe that was turned into a human. Thick brows, a rosebud mouth, and with scads of dark hair that she kept pulled back into a braid, she was short and willowy, suggesting quiet grace and exuding calm.

 

“That fucker,” Ava pulled a hand away from the steering wheel to wave angrily at the billboard. “I can’t believe we’re gonna be under the same roof as that jerk.”

 

Rami laughed, a deep, hearty sound that belied her otherwise somewhat frail form. “You really hate his movies, don’t you?”

 

“They’re total trash. He’s got nothing on Lee. Or Chan. Or even Van Damme. _Ninja Mime_ should be considered a crime against humanity.”

 

Rami tutted, leaning back in her seat to put her bare feet up on the dash of the car. Her glittery purple toes caught the light, and Ava had to resist the urge to lean over and tweak one. “His movies make money and people know his name. It’s a pretty decent business move. I should follow suit. Maybe get him to sit in on one of my classes.”

 

Ava leaned over and flicked on her turn signal, before veering into the right lane. The convention center loomed ahead of them, almost pretty in the orange early morning light. “Pretty sure you have a snowball’s chance in Hell of that happening.”

 

“You never know,” Rami sat up, ratcheting up her chair with her with a crunching of gears. “Thank you, by the way, for helping me with the convention. I think it’ll be a great opportunity for you to lead your own classes.”

 

“I should be thanking you – what else was I going to do this weekend?” Ava looked higher over the steering wheel at the convention center’s wide, flat parking lot. Perfection; their assigned spot was close to the service entrance. Getting in and setting up would be much easier with it-

 

A bright red sports car screeched ahead of them, cutting them off. Ava slammed on the brakes, jerking forward. Rami was jostled, her knees nearly slamming into her own forehead.

 

“MotherFUCK,” Ava swore, glaring at the car that pulled into the spot in a squealing of tire marks and smoke. “Rami, you okay?”

 

“Yeah, just a little shaken up. Where’s the fire?” Rami blew strands of loosened hair out of her eyes, and peered out of the front window. The tail lights of the car flickered off, even though it was parked at a definite angle, taking up two spots instead of one.

 

“Apparently in our fucking spot,” Ava growled. Throwing her car into “park,” she undid her seatbelt. In front of them, the car door opened. Stumbling out of it, a brown-haired man in a haphazardly worn suit lazily shut the door behind him.

 

“Hey! HEY!” Ava shouted, leaning back into her car to honk the horn. “You! You’re in our spot!”

 

The brunette turned around, and while Ava’s mind saw red, her heart lurched in her chest.

 

Of course it couldn’t be any car, with any of the other small time celebrities here at the convention. Of course it had to be none other than Johnny Cage, stupid shades and all, stupid handsome face and all. Pictures didn’t do him justice. Movies didn’t do him justice. Here in front of her, even though he was struggling to straighten out his trademark sunglasses, he was impossibly handsome. His brown hair was rumpled in that perfect “no effort effort” look, and his suit, though it seemed to be half-way hanging on, did nothing to disguise the powerful lines of his body.

 

“What?” He grumbled, reaching up to straighten out his shirt.

 

“You’re. In. Our. Spot.” Ava ground out, trying to calm down – trying to suck up some of the calm that Rami oozed. Tried to get her heart to calm down. So what if he was pretty? Rage would help her get out of this.

 

“Huh. How about that.” The brunette glanced over the spots, at the car parked haphazardly. “Looks like it’s my spot now.”

 

“No. That’s not how any of this works.” Ava slammed her car door. Still in the passenger’s seat, Rami was fiddling with her seatbelt, struggling to get it off and untangle herself. “You and your car need to move. Everyone participating in the convention was given assigned spots, and this is ours. We have to move a lot of stuff back and forth. That’s why we have this spot closer.”

 

“Look, babe,” he ambled closer, holding his hands out, “I was running late – I was out all night taking in the city’s clubs, and lemme tell you, the girls here really know how to party, show a guy a good time,” and he pulled down his shades to leer at her, “and I overslept. Me taking this spot is you totally donating to the good cause that is Johnny Cage actually being here. I’m making this place millions just by standing here.”

 

Something seemed to click, and he actually took off his glasses. Stared at her, then, if that wasn’t enough, dragged his eyes up from her feet to her face. “Man, you are a looker. Wanna blow this joint and come back to my place?”

 

Ava’s brows rose. “You can’t be serious.”

 

“Deadly,” he deadpanned, putting his shades back on. “No one’s gonna mind if I come in later. Come on. Just give me an hour. I’ll take you to heaven.”

 

Ava didn’t realize she was moving forward, right arm drawn back in a fist, until she felt something jerk her back. Whirling to look, it was Rami. Though the shorter woman wore a smile, there was a crease at the corner of her mouth that Ava knew was her trying to bite back a sharp comment.

 

“Well, nice as that is, Mr. Cage, Ava and I are the only ones manning our booth and our classes. I simply can’t part with her for even a minute.”

 

Johnny looked unperturbed. “Oh yeah? I’m totally down if you wanna come along. You’re cute, too.”

 

Rami’s grip on Ava’s bicep tightened so firmly that Ava could feel the bite of Rami’s nails. Rami took in a deep breath, and exhaled, loud enough for Ava to hear. “Well, that’s absolutely…a thing,” she said, her voice forced into a sugary pitch.

 

“Ain’t it?” He shot the women a lopsided grin.

 

Ava sighed, feeling her anger leaving her. In its place, she simply felt tired, deflated. The only thing left to do was to address the issue at hand; anything else, he’d definitely twist it into…something. “But, look, we do honestly need this spot-”

 

“I heard you the first time, gorgeous. And as I said, I was running late, so, this spot works out better. But because I’m such a nice guy, you guys can take my spot. Sweet, great,” Johnny turned to face Ava and Rami, sticking his fingers out in little guns. “Awesome, ladies, great talking to ya, drop by the booth for autographs, first one’s totally on me.” He was off, then, dashing the short distance to the convention doors.

 

Ava stood there, her mouth dropped open, Rami’s small hands still looped around her arm.

 

“Well,” Rami finally said, “imagine that!”

 

 

 

 

 

“I can’t believe that you still want to talk to that jerk off after that stunt he pulled this morning.” Ava raked a strand of voluminous hair back from her face and tucked it back with the rest of her hair, pulled back into a messy bun. “He’s a sexual harassment suit waiting to happen. Ugh! So fuckin’ grody.”

 

Because of the “switcheroo,” they’d added on an additional 3 hours in their set up time, meaning that the convention was already in full swing outside of the little room allocated to them. It’d also earned them a not to subtle talking to from the convention’s staff about how ‘setting up during convention hours was disruptive.’ Please - like they could be any more disruptive than the constant noise and flash of Johnny Cage’s booth. It seemed like every five minutes there was the dull boom of an explosion, the roar of a crowd, or deafening faux attacks. Some guy’s martial arts move (or what she assumed it was) sounded like he kept shouting “Where’s the keys to the car?!” in a horrific, odd falsetto that sounded ridiculous. Thankfully, the hardest work of set up was completed, and it was just a matter of laying out the yoga mats.

 

“Don’t be so quick to judge. It’s probably all a part of his persona.” Rami scooped up a handful of fliers. “And a celebrity endorsement would be perfect for the studio.”

 

“Pretty sure you’re not racking up any brownie points by talking to scum.You’re destroying all of your good karma by giving him the time of day.”

 

“Good karma doesn’t pay the bills,” and Rami was off in a swirl of jasmine and patchouli perfume oil, leaving Ava to continue setting up.

 

 

 

 

When Rami returned, there was a brick red flush in her cheeks and a furrowing of her thick brows that Ava instantly didn’t like. Setting down the stack of yoga mats she had in her hands, she dusted off her dry palms on the front of her shirt. Something, anything, that would make what came out of her mouth next not sound like an accusation.

 

“What happened?”

 

Rami sighed, setting down her fliers. “He signed the first five before he realized that I was even talking to him. He didn’t even take off his shades or look up. Well, that’s not entirely true. When the spokes girl from _Lovely Lumps-”_

 

“The one that has more silicone than proper work out techniques? Pretty sure those ‘supplements’ she’s selling are illegal.” Ava picked up two of the mats and began laying them across the floor. “And I fucking hate that business name so much. Even saying it puts a gross taste in my mouth.”

 

Rami gave Ava a withering look, and picking up a few of the mats, began to lay them out as well. “Anyway. She came over and whatever I could have said was totally lost. It’s fine, though,” she smiled, stepping on the top of one of the mats to smooth it out. “I at least tried, and you know, something could be said for that. And the fact that _Namaste Hot Yoga_ grew enough in these three years to get invited to this convention is good enough for me. Besides, we can totally offer those fliers as giveaways. Well, I’d like to keep one for the studio. Our little brush with celebrity!”

 

“See, that right there, that attitude,” Ava placed the last mat, and pointed at Rami, “that’s why this business has grown so much. You’re such a fucking ray of sunshine.”

 

Rami giggled. “Oh, please. Trust me, I lose my temper just like everyone else. But it really just comes down to asking if it’s really worth the time and energy. Does it change anything? If the answer is no, then let it go. His taking our spot didn’t mean that we were suddenly kicked out of the convention. We’re here, we’re in good health, and we’re all set to go!”

 

Rami straightened up, and took a few steps back. Ava looked around the small room – from the small table set up at the front with sign up information, across the yoga mats laid across the concrete floor, the stack of neatly folded towels, settling on the iPod and speaker set up towards the front of the room. The room would maybe hold 15 people; 20, potentially, if people squeezed in, but that was limiting comfort, and Ava knew that Rami wouldn’t go for that.

 

“It doesn’t make sense to be nasty about it,” Rami continued, padding across the floor to the iPod. “Johnny Cage is here because he’s Johnny Cage; not because he’s endorsing anyone. He’s a draw to get people in the door, and I bet he’s going to have a whole lot more people trying to push their businesses on him.”

 

“Yeah, but this is legit.” Ava stepped up next to Rami, watching as the shorter woman began going through playlists on the iPod. Before long, the sound of rainfall filled the small room. “What we do here really helps people. We’re not peddling snake oil or glamour or quick maybe fixes.”

 

“Ava, all of the businesses here are ‘legit,’” Rami gave her a small, squint eyed look that wrinkled the bridge of her nose. “Let it go. Don’t bring that negativity into your practice – that’ll really harm my bottom line!”

 

“Yeah, well,” Ava grumbled, rubbing her arms through the baggy sleeves of her pull over. “We’ll see.”

 

 

 

 

The rest of the day went by without incident. They were able to draw a sizable crowd, and once the classes started, Ava could barely hear the sound of Johnny Cage’s booth. Saturday, the next day, was busier (just as the pair had hoped), but wasn’t without incident.

 

Ava first noticed the guys hanging around outside of the faux yoga studio after the first class. She hadn’t thought much of it at the time; the convention hall was starting to fill up, and people were ambling about, looking at maps, distracted by the shouts of other vendors.

 

It was after her 2:15 class that it was clear that these guys were going to be a problem.

 

For one, they’d left and come back, and for two, they were leering at the women leaving the class, and snickering (rudely) at the men who left. It put a sour taste in Ava’s mouth. Glancing around the now empty room, Ava made a choice. Rami would be out for her lunch break for a few more minutes - more than enough time for Ava to get this cleared up. The less Rami had to deal with, the better. The woman had worked herself ragged getting everything ready, and it wasn’t right that these two muscle-bound assholes were freaking out the people in the class.

 

“…You guys interested in joining one of our classes? Our next one is at 3,” she said, draping her towel around her neck. Outside of the hot room, the air of the convention center was shockingly cold. She shifted her weight from one flip-flop clad foot to the other, waiting for an answer.

 

“Isn’t yoga for middle aged women going through a mid-life crisis?” growled the taller of the two. Ava got the distinct impression if she looked up “brute” in the dictionary, this guy’s picture would be the sole entry.

 

She sucked in a breath through her teeth. This wasn’t anything that she hadn’t dealt with before. “Yoga’s for everyone.” Willing calm into her voice, her mouth struggled to find the shape of a smile. “This is a judgement-free zone: we welcome all ages, genders, and body types in our classes. You should try one out.”

 

The smaller one (though “small” was purely subjective),pale and bald, let out a dark chuckle that didn’t sit right with Ava. Like he was laughing at the misfortunate of a small country on the news. “I think watching the fine specimens of womanhood that have ambled in and out of your studio is more than enough exercise. It certainly raises the heart rate.”

 

Okay. That was gross. And over the line. Still, Ava kept the smile glued on her face. She had to resolve this before Rami came back - and in a way that wouldn’t get them thrown out.

 

“Right. Well, we can’t have you guys loitering around here. You’re weirding out the other students. Some people might be embarrassed to give yoga a shot, and by you guys being jerks by the exit, you’re scaring away our business. So please leave.”There. That was polite. She didn’t even swear.

 

“We’re not doing anything,” snarled the bigger of the two men, “So we’re staying as long as we want.” He took a step forward, jutting out his massive chest. Ava tightened her grip on her towel, and didn’t move.

 

“Now, now, Goro, that’s no way to talk to a lady,” the smaller man said, in a honeyed voice dripping with venom. “Besides, as a leader of these classes, I’m sure there’s a lot to learn from her. Say, for example,” he also stepped forward, lowering his head near the side of her head. She could feel her jaw clenching. “If you’re as flexible as your legs would have me believe…”

 

“All right. That’s enough,” she snarled, snapping her head up to look at the two men. “You need to leave. Now. Or I’m going to call security.”

 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what’s this about ‘Security’?”

 

She was sure that if her jaw tightened any further, she’d pop a filling. Strolling over to the two men was a shirtless Johnny Cage. His hands were loosely wrapped in white tape, his last name blaring from the gold buckle at his waist. The shorts he wore, she thought, for a split second, should be illegal for how they clung to his thighs and crotch.

 

“Yoga lady doesn’t appreciate us commenting on her students,” grumbled Goro.

 

“ ‘Yoga lady,’” snarled Ava, “Doesn’t appreciate two muscle bound cock heads being utter creepy fuckers to her business, and being completely inappropriate to said lady.”

 

Cage looked at her, then to the two guys. His easy grin faltered, then fell entirely as he looked at her again.

 

“Dude, were you being rude to her? That’s not cool.” Johnny’s attention turned back to the two men. “Apologize.”

 

“I merely asked her a yoga-related question,” said the smaller man, with a grin that bordered on feral. “Not my fault that she took offense to it.”

 

“It’s not ‘yoga related’ to ask me how flexible I am based on how I look.” Ava crossed her arms, and shifted her weight heavily onto one foot. At least with Johnny present, it seemed that the situation would deescalate. In theory.

 

“Wow. Quan Chi, you asked her that?” Johnny’s expression bordered on the incredulous.

 

“It was a legitimate question.” Quan Chi suddenly took a great interest in inspecting his nails. “I’m sure there are many men here that would appreciate that an attractive yoga instructor is flexible - proof that she actually does what she says.”

 

“…Yeah, but you could have worded that better.” Now it was Johnny’s turn to cross his arms. Though it was hard to tell with his shades on, Ava got the impression that he was focusing on the bald man.

 

“Probably,” sighed Quan Chi, with a long suffering expression. “Not my fault she took it the wrong way. Sorry.” The last bit was tossed in her direction, a mere scrap to an annoying lap dog.

 

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Johnny slapped the center of Quan Chi’s back affably. “Now, we’re all friends here-”

 

“Yeah, you know what? I’m no one’s friend.”

 

“Aren’t you awfully snide for being a yoga instructor?” Quan Chi turned in her direction again, with his brows raised. Sarcasm dripped from his voice.

 

“Yeah, I mean, I thought yoga instructors were all chill people."

 

“Nah, not this one; she’s a spitfire. You should’ve seen her in the parking lot this morning-”

 

“Wait, this is the one?” Goro let out a rumbling laugh. “No wonder you said that there were babes hanging around the yoga area.”

 

Ava’s glare was enough to make Johnny visibly pale. “Dude!” he hissed, plaintively. With a nervous laugh that broke halfway through, Johnny turned back to Ava. “You know, guy talk!”

 

Ava took in a deep breath. Counted to ten. Imagined puppies. Fat, fluffy puppies, learning how to walk. Oh, and look, they’re just learning how to wag their tails…Running through a grassy meadow, tripping over those big paws…She let the breath out.

 

“There are,” she said, proud that she was able to speak normally, “plenty of ‘babes’ here in the convention center. The fact is, I’ve received complaints-” She had not, not verbally, per say, but their vibe was creeping out her students and that was all she needed. “About you guys just hanging out around here and making my students feel uncomfortable. So please, go somewhere else.”

 

Behind his shades, it was clear that Johnny was summing up his two companions. Co-workers. Whatever. Ava slowly uncrossed her arms, and resisted the urge to put them on her hips. Actually, no - that might send the message she wanted. She placed her hands on her hips, and widened her stance. _A powerful stance for a serious message_ , she thought.

 

Apparently the stance worked better than she would have thought. “All right, well, Quan Chi apologized, no harm, no foul. Guys, come on. Go hang out around the _Lady Lumps_ booth or whatever.”

 

Goro actually _sighed_. “They only want to talk to you.”

 

Quan Chi laughed, sounding like he was choking on water. “Goro found that out the hard way. Go on, Goro, tell Johnny about how you bought $500 worth of,” the bald man lifted his hands, made air quotes, “ ‘supplements’ from the buxom blonde.”

 

Goro’s wide face flushed pink. “She said they’re good for my metabolism.”

 

An ugly sound escaped Ava - one she tried her best to convince herself that wasn’t a horrible excuse for a muffled laugh. She launched into a series of fake coughs, going so far as to double over, doing what she could to pummel her smile back.

 

“Hey, you okay? Do you need some water or something?” There was Johnny, bending over in front of her.

 

“I’m fine.” Her voice was cracked, and speaking took more effort than she would have liked. Straightening up, she wiped tears from her eyes. “I’m fine.”

 

“So we’re good here?” Johnny flashed her a rakish smile.

“Ugh, whatever it takes to get you assholes away from my booth,” she sniffed, trying hard not to dissolve into another fit of laughter at Goro’s face. The giant of a man looked absolutely abashed.

 

“You guys go on ahead; I’ll catch up!” Not that it made much of a difference; Goro and Quan Chi were already wandering off, with the taller man, from the looks of it (and his massive, gesturing hands) still trying to explain the benefits of his supplements.

 

As they vanished into the throngs of people, Johnny turned to face Ava. Ava raised her eyebrows.

 

“And?”

 

“And…Were they really causing problems?” He looked like he’d shove his hands into his pockets if he had them. She wasn’t sure how to process this: the hot shot actor, actually looking…embarrassed? Hell must’ve frozen over. That, or maybe he’d gotten hit one too many times. Huh. Would wonders ever cease. Peeling her tongue away from the roof of her mouth, she sighed. Okay, maybe she had been just a little nastier than usual.

 

“Sort of,” she conceded, with a soft huff. “No one like…actually said anything, but they were really throwing the vibe off. Yoga’s supposed to be a path for relaxation, introspection. It’s hard enough to do that here in the middle of all of this chaos, but you thrown in two super buff dudes staring you down as you leave a class, and, well, it makes people uncomfortable. Women and men.”

 

Johnny’s face was contemplative - as much as it could be, behind the shades. Before he could say something to ruin the faintest glimmer of hope that Ava had that he might just be a normal human and not an egotistical maniac, she spoke again.

 

“Anyway, it’s time for me to get ready for my next class.” Should she thank him? It felt like it was the natural thing to do. It should’ve been, anyway. But pride made her swallow it before it had the chance to flee her lips.

 

“Yeah, so, about that…Now that we’re alone, gorgeous…”

 

She’d already turned her back to him, heading back to her class. It was easier to pretend that she hadn’t heard him that way.

 

 

 

 

 

The last class of the evening, regardless of where, was always her favorite. It was the last chance to make a difference in someone’s day, and to help ease them into their night. Leading classes at the convention center was no different. As she quietly paced through the sweating bodies, she allowed her voice to slip into instructor calm - a place that she kept warm and bundled deep inside of her, that locus point of quiet it felt like she could never consciously grasp.

 

“Take your time…breathe. Feel your lungs and your belly expand…Gather the energy…” A touch here, a bit of whispered encouragement there. Even in the middle of the heated room, she could feel the class respond, energized, instead of sapped, by the heat. Walking back to the front of the class, she mimicked the Half-Moon pose that her students were holding, then, began to speak again: “Next, we’re going to move into Triangle Pose - remember, this isn’t a contest. You set your pace. Listen to your body. If you can’t reach the floor, please use a block or a blanket to help you maintain your balance. This is going to be a deep stretch for your legs, your spine.” She let her voice trail off as she slipped into the pose, her body folding open, the delicious twist in her spine like slipping into a comfy pair of slippers at the end of the day. “We’re going to hold this position for a while, so find your level of comfort.”

 

She bit back a small smile as she heard people shuffling into the pose, the tell tale snap and crack of long dormant joints, the sighs of those who had found their pose for the evening. For five, deep, long breaths, she held it. Let her mind begin to wander, towards that inner pool of absolute still. Her eyelids drifted shut for what seemed like a moment. The door opening and closing didn’t phase her. She could hear as a few students moved out of the way - then, what sounded like excited whispers. Odd. She opened her eyes, and straightened up with a soft exhale.

 

And had to stop herself from reacting. She could see why her students had been flustered (though, kudos to them for getting back to their respective poses) - she’d recognize those shorts and obnoxious chest tattoo anywhere. Still - this was her classroom, and she wasn’t about to let him disrupt her practice. As he glanced around at the others, and tried to imitate their pose, she stepped over quietly to him.

 

“Straighten out your leg, if you can.”

 

He grunted, shifting. Wobbled.

 

“Imagine you’re between two panes of glass,” Ava walked behind him, and gently pressed above his hips. Oof. As delicious as his muscles were to look at, touching them was something else entirely. She tried to keep her touch as clinical as possible, angling his hips forward. His wobbling, faint as it was, stopped. “Feel the difference?”

 

“Yeah.” Hardly any strain in his voice this time.

 

“Now, imagine a string, pulling your head straight away from your foot…you’ll feel it in your side.”

 

He adjusted, and she allowed herself a smile.

 

“Good,” and she lightly pressed against his shoulder as she began to walk off. He didn’t have to say anything for her to know his eyes, even behind the shades, were on her.

 

 

 

 

Class passed swiftly, with the students swarming Johnny as soon as she ended it. With a small smile, and shaking her head, she simply let the brunette talk. Apparently the intersection between yoga and martial arts were smaller than she thought - and, she had to admit, the split was way more impressive in person.

 

He signed whatever was shoved towards him - fliers, t-shirts, towels -, and posed for an endless array of pictures. One guy in the class actually started low-key crying when Johnny fist-bumped him. Ava watched it all unfold, a small smile on her face. Part of her was waiting for the other shoe to drop; for Johnny to be as big of an asshole as he had been that morning. Apparently he had enough sense to know that acting like a dick for fans / in front of fans probably wasn’t the best idea. In fact, he was disgustingly charming through it all - so charming, in fact, that Ava realized that she was having a hard time to distinguish if he might not actually be as much as a jerk ass as she thought. Maybe she’d been standing too close to that smile of his.

 

As her students continue to surround him, she busied herself by doing small tasks. Picking up the yoga blocks and returning them to their respective cubbies. Folding the blankets and putting them away. Little things that could have waited, but allowed her to collect her thoughts. Strike One against Cage: He took their parking spot, setting them behind. She re-folded a blanket, frowning down at the crease. Strike Two against Cage: his entourage was gross. Good thing about Cage: he made his goons apologize (sort of). Good thing about Cage: he snuck into her class and didn’t disturb it. And wasn’t being a cockass.

 

She put the last blanket away. Two good things about Cage wasn’t enough to erase the fact that he’d taken their parking spot, was egotistical, and constantly seemed to look at her like she was the blue plate special and he’d been starving (which, if she listened to her gut, she had to admit, she was maybe the tiniest bit flattered by such raw desire. Maybe.)

 

Receding footsteps, and voices fading away. The click of the door falling shut. Only then did she let herself look up from what she was doing. She hadn’t expected to be face to face with Johnny Cage, his lithe form leaning against the door and holding it shut. Well. This was still her classroom - and she still had control (or so she tried to remind herself). Without missing a beat, she grabbed a spray bottle, and began to spray down one of the yoga mats left on the floor. Typically, her students picked up after themselves, but with the excitement of a celebrity in their midst, common housekeeping fell by the wayside. Not that she minded.

 

“So, uh,” his voice was abnormally loud in the now quiet room, “Can I like…help or something?”

 

“If you want.” She looked up long enough to gesture to another spray bottle sitting on the table near the exit/entrance. She’d begun spraying down the next mat when she felt him kneeling beside her, only the sound of his exhaling giving him away. He certainly seemed to have all of the trappings of a martial artist down - flexibility, moving quietly, a killer body -

 

“That was one of the most intense work outs I think I’ve ever had.” The hushed sound of the spray bottle as he rapidly spritzed the mat down. “I mean, I’ve done yoga before and it’s no big deal, but with this heat? Man. I thought I was gonna pass out.”

 

She chuckled. The bravado was there, but she was in too much of a good mood to let it slip under her skin as it had before. Rami was right - she had to let it go. “It can be intense, yeah.” A question itched the base of her tongue, and before she could trap it, it sprung free. “What brought you in, anyway?”

 

“Would you buy ‘idle curiosity’?” His tongue probed the inside of his cheek. He was hiding something, she was sure of it, but decided not to press.

 

“Sure - why the fuck not?”

 

“The mouth on you. Did I ever tell you how hot I think it is?”

 

“Don’t think we’ve gotten to that point in our relationship, Cage.” This was nice - this was easier. This took the weight from her chest. He was bantering. She was bantering right back. They were _bantering_.

 

“Seriously, though. You’re a total babe. Ten out of ten. Maybe an eleven.”

 

“Is this your weird way of apologizing for being a total cock this morning and almost fucking up our set up entirely?”

 

“Okay, so, look, baby-”

 

“Stop calling me that.” She rolled up the mat she was working on, and stood up. “I have a name, and it sure as shit ain’t ‘baby.’”

 

“So spill - hotness.” He flashed her a shit-eating grin. She bit the inside of her cheek, lightly, enough to remind her to let it go, and sighed.

 

“It’s Ava.”

 

“Ava. A classy name for a classy gal - even with the sailor mouth. That’s like, 1930s. Ava.” He rolled her name around in his mouth, sampling it. “Don’t hear that one very often. I think you’re the first Ava I’d ever met. And would like to get to know better. Dinner?”

 

“Not a chance, Cage.”

 

“Come on. One dinner won’t kill you.”

 

“Yeah, but it might kill you.” She propped the mat up in the corner of the room. He padded up behind her, mat in his hands. Shifting it to one, he used the other to pull his glasses down his nose, and raise an eyebrow at her, grinning all the while.

 

“I like your attitude. It’s fuckin’ hot.” He set the mat down against hers, then crossed his arms. “But seriously. Dinner with a movie star. How can you pass that up?”

 

“Easy. I just did.”

 

Surprising her, he walked across the floor, and began spraying and wiping down another mat. “All right. A guy can take a hint. But at least I got your name out of it. Ava. Now I know what to call out in my dreams.”

 

“Gross.” But she was smiling nonetheless.

 

 

 

 

 

“It’s been insane today. I think I’ve gotten well over 500 new sign ups for the studio!” Rami took a long swig from her water bottle. Since they’d opened the doors of the studio at convention start that morning, each class had been absolutely packed. Lines started to form at least 20 minutes before the end of the previous session, and once each class was over, there was a rush to get in. It was only through repeated insisting that yes, even yoga instructors needed to take breaks that the pair were able to eke out a meager lunch hour.

 

“Mmph,” Ava dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “That’s awesome!”

 

“You’re telling me,” Rami leaned back, propping her feet up. “There’s so much going on here and I couldn’t afford any real advertising, so I was hoping against hope I’d at least get 100. If they came, stayed - that’d be enough in new memberships to maybe think about adding some upgrades to the studio. But this is unreal!”

 

“You know, I wonder if it had anything to do with last night.” Biting into her sandwich, Ava chewed, swallowed. “Johnny Cage randomly dropped in the last class. I thought he was going to be a total dick, but he actually participated. And was really nice to everyone afterwards.”

 

“Get out,” breathed Rami, pausing mid-bite. “You’re kidding.”

 

“Nope.” Ava crumpled up the bag her sandwich was in. “But I haven’t heard anything else about it.”

 

“But when have either one of us had a chance to leave? Tell you what - you lead the next class, and I’ll go find out about it. I’ll totally be back in time to lead after you.”

 

“Mmm, I trust you, Rami. Good luck, I guess?” Ava shrugged, leaning over to sip from her green tea.

 

“For sure,” Rami replied, standing up. “I’ll let you know what I find out.”

 

Ava nodded, popping the last bit of her sandwich in her mouth. The next class was due to start in 10 minutes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wiping sweat away from her face, Ava moved to turn the music down. One class, then another, and another, had passed, and she was starting to get worried. Two more classes left, and the convention would be over. It wasn’t like Rami to be anything resembling irresponsible. What if something had happened to her? A sour taste began to rise in the back of Ava’s throat. What if Cage’s goons had come back? Oh, man. She would wipe the floor with that bald dude’s face -

 

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry I’m late,” exclaimed a breathless Rami as she entered the small room - her arms full of t-shirts, rolled posters, and towels. “I totally got side-tracked in conversation - one thing led to another.” She dropped all of the items down on the table, then scrambled to straighten them out.

 

“Dude, what is all of that?” Ava paced over, her eyebrows raised. Rami smoothed out one of the posters, and Ava nearly jumped back. It was of a beaming Johnny Cage, bare chested, arms crossed - his autograph slathered across the bottom of the poster.

 

“ ‘To my ravishing Rami,’” Ava read aloud, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Wow.”

Rami flushed a flattering wine red. “Oh, Johnny’s a total flirt.” Ava had to stop herself from grinning as Rami swallowed a giggle. “As you know. But he’s quite the charmer. Once you get past all of the…” Rami bunched up her shoulders, let them drop. Pursed her lips out, then took in a deep breath, pressing the tip of her tongue to the middle of her upper lip. “ ‘Persona’, I guess, might be the right word.”

 

“So you’re telling me he’s a jerkass with a heart of gold? Likely story.” Ava started to poke through the goods on the table. There were a few of his movie t-shirts, _Ninja Mime; Aquatic Assault._ A particularly flattering, plush gray tank top with the logo from _7 Poisons_. Trash movie, awesome shirt. “I’m keeping this one, by the way.”

 

“Figured you would. I told him it was your style, and I had to like, argue with him not to just give it to me. Not like he listened. He said for all of the good that the class did, all of this was on the house.”

 

Ava tried to convince herself that her cheeks weren’t warm. Deciding that it would be easier on herself to admit that she just might be blushing, she then figured that she was blushing because she didn’t like to be the center of attention - not because she was beginning to have mixed feelings about someone she was pretty sure she shouldn’t like.

 

“He also said,” Rami piped up, prying into Ava’s thoughts, “that he owed us for being a, what did he say,” and she thoughtfully, mockingly, tapped her chin, “a ‘cock.’”

 

Ava snorted, then laughed. “Well, stealing our spot was a cock move. To put it nicely.”

 

“Well,” Rami began to fold the remaining shirts on the table, “He did seem really torn up about it. That, and apparently there was an incident with some of his stunt men?”

 

Busted.

 

“…It was a tiny, teensy weensey, little thing,” Ava quickly said. “Hardly worth even talking about.”

 

Rami stopped her folding, and fixed Ava with a pointed, but not unkind, stare. Ava felt herself wither under that, _I’m not mad; just disappointed_ look that Rami had mastered.

 

“Really,” Ava added, finding her voice again. The smallest crack of a smile from Rami, and Ava felt her shoulders slump in relief. “Just some guys standing around being dicks.”

 

“Apparently they’re just ‘awkward’, as Johnny put it.” Rami glanced at her watch. “Oof. I didn’t realize I’d been gone that long.”

 

“Okay, wait, ‘Johnny’? When did you two get on a first name basis?” Ava allowed herself a teasing smile at Rami.

 

Rami rolled her eyes playfully. “That’s what he told me to call him. ‘Mr. Cage’ is my father,’ is what he said.”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“Ava, you are impossible.”

 

A tapping at the door of the small makeshift studio, and both women glanced at it. There was already a line forming.

 

“Since you took over the last few classes, why don’t I lead this one? You can close out for the night.” Rami was speaking hurriedly now, as she scrambled to organize all of the goods on the table and put away the things she’d gotten. Ava, not wanting to get in the way, stepped aside, her new tank top clutched in hand.

 

“Sounds good - but hey, wait.”

 

Rami paused, her dark brows raised.

 

“You never told me how our class volume picked up.” Though at this point, Ava figured that she had a good idea how. Never hurt to confirm.

 

“Oh, yeah, that,” and Rami tucked a long strand of black hair back into her messy bun. “So, like, in between autographs, he’s got these like, martial arts presentations that he gives. Like, they’re about an hour and a half, but you know, whatever, right, so anyway, after the demonstration, he started talking about yoga for helping him calm his mind and increase his flexibility - and totally said that _Namaste Hot Yoga_ had given him one of the best work outs of his life. I stood in line afterwards just to thank him, and even during the autograph sessions, he was telling people about how life changing the class was. I mean, you can’t buy advertisement like that,” she finished, breathlessly. “It’s been nuts. I mean, for all I know, he could be lying-”

 

“Wait - you’d be okay with him lying about your practice?" Ava’s stomach lurched. Rami was a lot of things, but dishonest wasn’t one of them.

 

“Uh, Johnny Cage may be a lot of things, but a liar he is not,” sniffed Rami. “Forget that I even mentioned that - I don’t know why I did. Although I guess you could say that acting in and out of itself is lying, but I’m not in the right head space to go that meta. Nor do I think the situation actually calls for all of that. No, Ava - he really, really liked the class. He said, even,” she blew an errant strand of hair out of her face, “That you were quite helpful to him.”

 

Ava felt her cheeks grow hot. “Uh-huh.” It’d be easier to pass it off as her usual scoffing, incredulity that she was actually a good yoga instructor. However, (and as Ava suspected), Rami saw through her instantly. The shorter women grinned, the expression brightening her face and bringing out her dimples, the little dip in her chin.

 

“Seriously,” Rami prodded, delicately. “I watched one of his presentations - he was talking about how it really pushed him physically in a different way. Cleared his mind. Look,” she leaned against the table, crossing her legs at the ankle, “I know you probably think he’s Hollywood trash, and it was a crappy thing he did this morning, but I honestly think he’s more than made up for it. He’s like a kid, you know? So used to getting catered to that he forgets that there are other people in the world. And apparently you and your gutter mouth helped him.”

 

“What? Oh, please. He probably gets cursed out all of the time.” Ava fiddled with the brochures on the table. Compared to what they started off with Friday, there were barely a handful left. Maybe enough to squeak through this evening’s class.

 

“Yeah, but he apparently doesn’t get cursed out by, and I quote, ‘The hottest thing this side of being awake.’”

 

Ava’s face felt like it was on fire. Quickly, she slapped her hands against her cheeks. “Please. Snake oil.”

 

“Whatever. I think he likes you,” cooed Rami, sliding from around the table. “And I think you like himmmmm.” Moving to stand beside Ava, Rami gently elbowed her. “Look at you; trying not to smile.”

 

Ava tried harder to tamp down the corners of her mouth. The harder she tried, the more it resisted.

 

“Admit it – Johnny Cage is not the terrible person you thought he was. You were wrooonngggg,” Rami sing-songed.

 

At Rami’s tone of voice, the docile wheedling, Ava’s smile sprang forth, hatching into laughter. “Okay, okay – I know when I’m defeated,” she said, with a dramatic sigh. “I was wrong about Johnny Cage. And maybe I do like him. A little. As a human being. One biped to another. And maybe he’s also a little easy on the eyes.”

 

“Oh, I know. Otherwise you wouldn’t keep watching his movies if you hated them that much.”

 

“Okay, for one: they’re perfect for ‘Trash Movie Night’, and you know it, and for two: that hideous tattoo of his seriously knocks off cute points.”

 

“Mmhmm.”

 

 

 

 

She wasn’t sure who was in charge of picking the bar’s ambient music, but whoever they were, they had excellent taste. The smoothness of 1970s soul settled in the air, dusted across her shoulders; added extra warmth to her whiskey. With her free hand, she drummed along with the beat of the music, resisting the urge to mouth the familiar words. The last class of the convention ended with an impromptu giveaway and more new students. After getting everything packed away and loaded into the car, a good drink was in order.

 

“Rami, have a drink with me?” Ava leaned against the frame of her car, hoping to look more inviting than her tone of voice suggested. She was exhausted, and a drink may not have been in her best interests, but just the thought of it was enough to make her mouth water.

 

“Ha!” Rami scoffed, sweetly as ever. “Not gonna happen. I’m totally beat - and I want to get all of new students entered in on the mailing list before tomorrow.”

 

“Well, I tried,” Ava replied, with a mock sorrowful pout to her lower lip. “Your loss.”

 

“Uh-huh.” Rami sidled closer. “And the fact that this drink is more than likely going to take place in the hotel bar that’s next to the convention center where Johnny Cage is also happening to be spending the night has nothing to do with it?”

 

Ava snorted. “That’s a stretch. Dude sure as hell wasn’t there last night - was out ‘partying’, remember? I doubt he’s gonna be there tonight. And this is convenient. I can grab a drink and go home.”

 

“Sure.” Rami smiled, teasingly, but not unkind.

 

“Oh, blow it out of your sunshiny twat,” Ava laughed, closing her car door.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Fancy meeting you here.” Ava resisted the urge to roll her eyes - and wondered if Rami had missed her calling as a psychic. But not even this guy was going to ruin the experience for her. Sparing him a glance, she held a finger to her lips.

 

“Quiet? Why? Uh, it’s a bar. People talk here. Talk, drink, flirt outrageously.” He wasn’t wrong; all around her, there were people talking, their voices a low murmur.

 

“Talk, yes. Yell, no. This isn’t a frat bar,” she frowned. “And I really fucking dig this song, so shut up for like, 2 minutes. Then you can talk as much as you want.”

 

“Promise?” He settled himself into the seat next to her, waving over the bartender. “Rum and coke.” To her amazement, he’s quiet as he waits on his drink, his hands idly drumming no pattern in particular as he makes a show of listening. He quirked his head, this way then that, waiting for the tune to catch him.

 

It didn’t take him long for the drumming of his hands to accurately mimic the beat of the song, and he started nodding, exaggerated with the song. She hid her grin behind the rim of her glass, and mouthed the words silently to herself. He wouldn’t be one to judge if he caught her doing it. A repeated drum beat, and the gradual fade of the song into the next. She paused, waited to see if she could recognize it. She could, but –

 

“A promise is a promise, sweetheart,” he said, turning in his seat to face her. His drink was neatly in front of him, cushioned against a black napkin. Messing with the black stirrer, he shot her a grin that she imagined that he thought was charming, and not full of shit.

 

“You’re an asshole.” She took a sip of her whiskey, savoring the sweet burn. “And you were an absolute prick to my friend, who was stupid enough to think highly of you and your equally shit movies. Your hired goons are trash who don’t deserve to be anywhere near women.”

 

He grins. “That it?”

 

He’s baiting her. Oh. There’s where his charm was. It was obnoxious and infectious, and she knew she was fighting a losing battle to keep her face neutral. And she knew she was fighting below the belt, trying desperately to claw up something for her to keep her angry about him. The simple fact of the matter was that all of the wrong he’d done (imagined or not) had long since been resolved, and he was disgustingly charming - and even sweet, if Rami was to be believed.

 

She pressed her tongue against her lower lip, trying to think of a way to continue.

 

“I think your shades are ridiculous.”

 

“They’re $500 shades.”

 

“Proof that money can’t buy good taste.” She was biting her smile back and losing. She could feel her mouth turning up.

 

He was smiling back, and there was something in it that was inching close towards genuine. She wanted to tease the rest of it out.

 

“And I think your chest tattoo is the saddest thing in the world.”

 

“Sadder than a puppy with a broken leg?”

 

“What? Dude, that’s fucking horrible.” She turned to face him, caught between a laugh and being mock insulted.

 

“You know, for a yoga instructor, you have the mouth of a sailor. It’s pretty hot.”

 

“I’ll show you ‘hot.’” It’s a pathetic come back and she knew it, and that’s why she chuckled a few moments later. He feigned surprise, his dark brows raising over his eyes. Fuck. His smile, the real thing he was showing her now, was absolutely incandescent.

 

“That was terrible.”

 

“Wit’s not one of my strong points. That’s how the real world is, when not everything is scripted for you.”

“Not everything I say is scripted. Or a line. This is all Cage, babe.”

 

“I don’t understand how you can be so fucking charming and so disgusting at the same time. It’s like you’re a hot cockroach.”

 

“I’ll show you a hot cock.”

 

She laughed so hard that whiskey seeped from her nose, burning like fire. “Motherfuck,” she yowled, holding her napkin to her nose. He offered her his, slightly sodden from resting under his drink. She took it anyway, pressing it under her nose. She blows, grimaces, and blows harder, making sure to clear her sinuses.

 

It’s not the sexiest thing in the world, and the sound of it causes a few heads to turn. She’s past the point of caring. Through it all, Johnny watches her, with a closed mouth smile, merriment dancing in his eyes, and she’s pretty sure she hasn’t had enough to drink to be this completely smitten. He’s still insufferable, he still has that goddawful tacky tattoo, and chances are, he’s running a line on her that he’s used in an infinite amount of bars, but fuck it. He’s charming and there’s kindness in his smile and he did turn around and actually give _Namaste Hot Yoga_ publicity without asking for anything.

 

That was worth humoring him.

 

“So, gorgeous, ice is broken. What’s your last name? Other than ‘My darkest sexual fantasies come to life’?”

 

“I’m not sure if that was a race thing, or if you’re comparing me to a nightmare.”

 

His eyes widened; it was clear he never considered anything racial in his comment. He looked so flustered (and actually seems to pale slightly) that she laughed (without taking a drink first, thankfully).

 

He still looked lost; perhaps thinking of the potential PR nightmare it could cause him. She wanted to twist the knife, just a bit. Something about him made her dance on the edge of cruel, and she started to like it. Payback. Maybe.

 

“Though, pretty sure if I leaked to some gossip site that Johnny Cage uses non-PC language and fetishizes black women as the thing of nightmares, I could make a pretty decent chunk of change…”

 

“Jesus, I didn’t mean it like that!”

 

“You sure?”  Picking up her glass, she tilted it, swirling the ice around.

 

“Positive. Like, I don’t see race.”

 

She gave him a flat look.

 

“I mean, I SEE race, because clearly, saying that I don’t is insulting, but you know, my dick knows that a pot of gold is at the end of every rainbow, and you just-“

 

“Wait - did you just compare your dick…I just…” Words escaped her. She lost it, and laughed loud - a cackle that caused the bar patrons to turn in their seats. Doubling over in her seat, hot tears squeeze from the corners of her eyes, and it was hard to catch her breath. Wheezing, she forced herself to sit up straight, to look back at Johnny. His color is returning, and, taking in her face, his grin returned back to his face.

 

“Oh my God, Cage…” She dabbed at her eyes, finding a not snotted up corner of the napkin to use. “This is why you’re still around,” she breathed, unable to stop the words.

 

“ ‘Still around’?” He turned back to the bar, glass in hand.

 

“Why you’re in the movies. I mean, meathead guys, even those who can do splits, are a dime a dozen. But you…you’re like, legitimately charming. And might I even say fun to be around.”

 

“And definitely easy on the eyes,” he raked his perfect hair back into place, using the reflection of himself in the mirror behind the bar.

 

“Too bad you’re not the same on the ears.”

 

 

 

 

Glasses line the bar in front of them. Inch by inch, they’d gotten closer. His stupid stories were actually funny, though it was less the content of the stories and more of how he was telling them. He used his hands to make grand, sweeping gestures, a child describing the fanciest flights of imagination. To hear him tell it, Hollywood was a place of epic battles, forces of good and evil. Peppered between tales of the silver screen are homier pieces – his training routine, what his days are like. It’s those pieces that keep luring her in deeper, cup after cup.

 

She’d lost count of the drinks that they’d had before he’d offered her his arm, and suggested that they leave. She was sober enough to know that it might not have been a good idea, but drunk enough to throw caution to the wind. If anything, Cage was a gentleman, despite the leering persona. He’d gone so far as to help her off of her stool, though she clearly hadn’t needed it. As they walked down the quiet hallways of the hotel, it was second nature for her to put her head on his shoulder. Once, as they stopped in front of the elevator, for a brief moment, he had craned his neck to the side, touching the side of his head to the top of hers.

 

 _I’m so going to do this._ She marked her resolve by lightly biting her lower lip.

 

 

There were no fireworks, no fanfare, as they walked to his room. He paused long enough to fumble for his key card, before opening the door. He looked at her, an almost half-smile on his face. As if he wasn’t sure where this was going to lead.

 

She made the choice for him, and put her hand on the door handle. His grin faltered, unsure, before he put the key in. Leaving him with no room for doubt, she twisted the handle, opening it. Held the door for him, with a mock grin and bow.

 

“After you.”

 

“You’re too kind.”

 

Inside, the room was as opulent as the rest of the hotel was - spacious ceilings, warm light. None of it really mattered - not until she saw the giant bed in the center of the room. Perfect.

 

“So…” she pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “What’s next?” It was a dumb question, one she already knew the answer to. Of course something had to happen now. She had been gunning for it, decided that yes, it would be an excellent idea, after he’d leaned across her at the bar to pick up a napkin, his cheek nearly brushing against her lips. From the whorl of his ear to the set of his jaw, she knew she had to feel them under her tongue.

 

When he crossed the room to stand in front of her, his hands hovered above her hips. He didn’t touch her. “Nothing,” he spoke quickly. “Nothing,” he said again, more measured. “Unless you don’t want it to.”

 

A pause.

 

“That didn’t make sense,” she snorted, before laughing. He pressed closer now, his nose barely brushing against hers.

 

“Yes it did.” He walked closer. His hands settled on her hips, just so, warmth bleeding through the fabric of her leggings. She moved forward, and closed the gap.

 

His mouth was softer than she thought it would be.

 

For a moment, his lips were stiff against hers, surprised, she hoped. Then…oh. Oh. For as good of a kisser as he appeared on screen, the reality was more than she could have even suspected. He was gentle and firm, chaste, gentlemanly, with a flicker of heat beneath it all, questioning. She responded the only way that she knew how, that the twist in her stomach whispered to her was the right way. She opened her mouth and grabbed a fistful of his short hair, shoving his face further into hers, pushing her tongue past his lips and into his mouth, eagerly.

 

Their mouths grappling, she tugged again at his hair. The action elicited the sweetest whimper from him, a whimper that shot through her, a bolt of ice water before turning into a flame between her legs. When they broke, faces red, chests heaving, his eyes looking everywhere but hers, his cheeks pink, and imagine that, the great  Johnny Cage, martial arts movie star and all around insufferable dick was blushing, she kept one hand firmly gripped in his hair, and, with the other, touched him gently under the chin. Turned his face to hers. Locked her eyes with his.

 

And smiled, before pushing him onto the bed.

 

It didn’t take long for both of them to be naked, past the time of trying to be coquettish. He, clumsy, as he peeled off his designer jeans, shirt, her, moving swiftly, tossing things carelessly aside. He had barely re-settled himself on the bed before she was atop him, covering his body with hers. She explored the planes of his body, traced the lines of the tacky tattoo with her fingertips, scraped her nails against him to watch as gooseflesh dotted his arms. A fine stubble, a memory of a trail from his navel to his crotch, ghosted across her lips. His stomach quivered under her lips, and his cock pulsed against her stomach as she worked lower.

 

When she finally mounted him, joining them together, her hissing as he stretched her full, it was like the first time and like coming home. With each stroke, she tried to remind herself that this was a one time thing. That it was a fantasy. That it was nothing more than a hate fuck –

 

His fingers intertwined with hers, his free hand cupping the back of her neck, he pulled her down and touched his forehead to hers. Time stopped; her breath caught in her stomach. He smiled, boyishly charming, the seed of the flashy camera grin. Her free hand reached up, trailed down the side of his face.

 

“You’re a dream,” he sighed.

 

“That’s a terrible line,” it was, and yet, it wasn’t. It made her uncomfortable, made her heart do some strange thing that she hadn’t felt since grade school. Or really, if she was going to be honest with herself.

 

He looked offended. Then, he sighed. Bucked his hips into hers, jostling his cock deeper into her body. She gasped, clenching instinctively on him – his fingernails bit into her palm.

 

“I’m not lying. You’re something else, Ava. I know this is totally dumb, but I literally haven’t been able to stop thinking about you and then when I saw you at the bar and we started talking it was like everything just clicked and this is fucking per-”

 

Anything more, she knew, would ruin it. So she kissed him to shut him up, and it worked.

 

For a while, at least.

 

Later, in the afterglow, they laid side by side. He lifted his arms, slowly, and folded them behind his head. Sat. She could sense him fidgeting, unsure. Then, he rolled to his side, wrapped his arms around her, and rolled back onto his back, taking her with him. She didn’t fight him. This close, the lines of his tattoo were a nonsensical blur, and, closing her eyes, she settled in. Despite the callouses, the darkened skin across his knuckles, Johnny Cage had remarkably tender hands. They carded through Ava’s cloud of hair, dragged across the top of her skull to the dip where it met her neck, lingered there, wondering, before he cupped the nape of her neck in his hand, pulled her to him. His mouth on hers, their lips melded together, quietly, without hurry.

 

Surprising herself, she was the one that broke the kiss first. It took him a moment for his eyes to drift open, and when they did, they were dreamy, a stark contrast to the self-satisfied smirk on his lips.

 

“You’re a toad.” But she laughed anyway.

 

“Ribbit.” He leaned forward, planting a sloppy kiss against her nose.

 

 

 

 

 

Showering and getting dressed in the morning was an easier affair than she thought. Though her stomach wanted to bunch up, to flip around, she focused on her breathing, the warmth of the water, the feel of her clothing back against her skin. People did these things all of the time. Why shouldn’t she be any different? And to his credit, Johnny was affable – quiet, for once. It was the space that she desperately needed.

 

“So,” she trailed off, pulling her hair back from her face.

 

“Yeah?” He was sitting on the edge of the rumpled bed, sunglasses still on the night stand. He’d only pulled on his boxers, and the sight of him this close to being naked was oddly vulnerable. He leaned back now, stretching out his legs. The corded muscles in his thighs shifted enticingly.

 

Tilting her head down, she began to section off her hair. A braid wouldn’t scream, “I just had the most mind blowing sex with a celebrity.”  “I guess thanks for an amazing night? I don’t really know how these things work,” she finally managed – and then, once the words were out, it didn’t seem so hard to speak anymore. “I’d tell you how great of a fuck you were, but I think I’d swell an already massive head.” Vulgarity came easier, made the whole situation easier. The war in her stomach continued. This shouldn’t be a big deal. It couldn’t be a big deal. What was she expecting, anyway?

 

“…Yeah.” His response hung in the air. The brief sound of his voice made the quiet in the room all the more still. Unnatural, now. Her hands paused. She looked up. He was watching her, his expression unreadable. She ran a hand over her half-done braid, then, to the back of her neck. The ghost of how he touched her the night before hissed against her ear.

 

“Fuck, I’m bad at this,” she exhaled, her words spilling over themselves. “Seriously. Like, I’ve never even remotely had the chance to fuck a celebrity and I’m not sure how this works – you know, like, this couldn’t have been serious for you. You call me a cab, I go home, we both have fun stories to tell, right?” Her stomach rolled harder. This wasn’t right. None of it was right. But how silly could she be, assuming that there could have been something more? It was still Johnny Cage.

 

He leaned over the bed, picking up his sunglasses. He turned them about in his hands, fiddling, before he set them back down.

 

“Ava; chill,” he said, but it sounded like he didn’t believe in his own words. “It was fun. I had fun. Did you have fun?”

 

He looked at her again, but his gaze wasn’t as clear as it was before. Something had moved across those blue eyes, as if he was retreating.

 

“…Yeah,” she said, the words stale in her mouth. “ ‘Fun’ was an understatement,” she added, hoping it would chase the foul taste out of her mouth. It didn’t.

 

“Good. Glad to hear it, babe.” The nickname was forced. She felt it; the air between them changed. And she decided to act.

 

“I, uh…I was wrong about you.” Her hands continue her braid, giving her something to do, building her courage. “I thought you were an asshole that couldn’t act. And while you still can’t act, maybe you’re not as big of a cock ass as I thought.”

 

His muffled laugh encouraged her.

 

“And, maybe I like you a little more than I should, given the situation – you’re Hollywood; probably do this sort of thing all the time, but Jesus Christ, I wouldn’t be able to keep sitting here if I didn’t say anything. But what’s the chance of anything coming from this, you know? But it’s like, I got this thing where I just have to be fucking honest, and I seriously was going to puke unless I said something-”

 

Her hands caught in a snarl of her hair, and her focus shifted to it. Coarse curls straining against her fingers, until his hands were on top of hers. They moved her nearly complete braid away from her neck, replacing the familiar whisper of hair with the heat of his mouth, his lips. They stayed there, his forehead resting against the back of her head.

 

“Hey,” he said, in a voice for the two of them. He trailed off – and she leaned forward, waiting for his next words. He lightly bit the back of her neck, a ghost of his teeth, before he pulled back.

 

“Don’t worry about it.” As dismissive as his words were, the tone tugged at her. Regret, maybe. Something she couldn’t place her finger on – something that she was too afraid to humor.

 

“…Well, then, I won’t.” She couldn’t sound defeated because she wasn’t. All of the twisting and turning of her stomach only to lead into this, a few more words, and it was over. There was no more anxiety, no more tension. She had said her piece, and, somehow, she knew he got what she was trying to say.

 

“Breakfast?” He walked away from her chair, and flopped back down onto the bed. Sprawled his legs across the mattress before he turned onto his side, facing her. “The room service menu here? Totally. Legit.”

 

Her braid finally done, Ava smiled as she pulled it back over her shoulder. “Unless they have pancakes, that’s a bullshit claim.”

 

“I’ll see your pancakes and raise them to chicken and waffles.”

 

“You’re on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, hey. This is a Johnny Cage fanfic that no one asked for BUT I WROTE ANYWAY.
> 
> Blame it on the "Mortal Kombat 11" trailers. And the fact that older Johnny Cage is a fox. FIGHT ME.


	2. Give me one more chance to prove my love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A decade can change a lot. Or it could change nothing. It really all depends.

**Ten Years Later**  

The bar was quiet after the hub bub of the convention, and with sweet pangs of nostalgia, Ava traced the top of the bar under her fingertips. She caught her reflection in the mirror behind the rows of bottles, and offered it a small, wan smile. The face in the glass was familiar, comforting. To her own eyes, she thought, she hadn’t changed – time creeped on her subtly, on paper feet. For everything that it took, it would concede another. Gray hair would be forgotten because her skin was still remarkably smooth. Laugh lines were ignored when she laughed, full and earthy. Stretch mark were etched into flesh that wasn’t as firm as it was years ago, suggesting the delicacy of lace.

 

Age had treated Johnny well, she thought, raising her hand to order. It had been years - well over a decade. With that distance came a fumbling wisdom; she didn’t feel slighted that he hadn’t come by the pop up yoga studio, for the same reasons why she didn’t feel guilty about not standing in line for his autograph, to hear first-hand the escapades of the latter half of his career, how at his advanced age he was still able to do splits. The fact that he was still a headliner, even after all of the younger, faster imitators and rare, raw talents, comforted her. _Namaste Hot Yoga_ , of course, now was able to share that spotlight, something Rami was still perpetually grateful to Cage for. Funny how even in that gap of time, there were opportunities for their paths to cross – Johnny adding hot yoga to his workout routine, Rami even, briefly, becoming a part of his entourage, leaving their home base studio under Ava’s care. Cage didn’t once ask for Ava personally, for reasons that they both understood, and kept folded away.

 

Her drink now in front of her, Ava idly twirled the black stirrer around, watching as invisible currents caught the crushed mint leaves, far too battered to be coaxed into their original shape. Leaning forward, she took a long sip of it, sighed in contentment, feeling the long weekend finally slip from her shoulders. _Namaste Hot Yoga_ did well – the numbers held constant, which was the best that could be hoped for. The convention brought in new blood, true, but never again in the mad rush like that first year. Letting her eyes drift shut, she took another sip, holding the liquor in her mouth until the bitterness of the mint and the bite of the alcohol faded into nothing. She held it still when she felt someone sit down beside her, the stool creaking modestly.

 

“You could have come by and said hello, you know.” No hint of insult, just the same good-humor that age had mellowed from cocky into something this side of pleasant.

 

She swallowed, slowly, in no rush to speak or to ruin the lingering traces of her drink. “I could have.”

He leaned forward, folding his arms across the bar. His head titled up as his eyes lazily trailed over the labels of the bottles, of the taps.

 

“I didn’t think you’d remember me,” she volunteered, a lie wrapped up in a truth wrapped up in another lie.

He coughed, incredulous, his gaze torn away from the bottles. He turned, sloppily, in his stool to gape at her. “That I wouldn’t remember you? Jesus, Ava –how could I have forgotten?” His brows knit, there was hurt in his voice, insulted at the possibility, wounded at how causal she was.

 

“Uh, famous Hollywood cock ass, bangs hot chicks all the time,” she said, allowing enough lightness in her voice to soothe him with the truth of it all. “Why would you remember some yoga instructor? It’s fine, Cage. Really.” She was tempted to reach out, lay her hand over his. Too intimate, too much time between them. She would leave it be. “It’s not like we traded numbers or became pen pals afterwards. Though I did support your career more than I would have wanted. You really, really should put something in your contract about sequels. _Ninja Mime 2_ was more of an abortion than the first one.”

 

He laughed, easy. Gray at his temples and laugh lines that he clearly had no work done to correct etched into his face. Age really did suit him well, she thought, lifting her glass to hide her own smile.

 

“I’ll have you know that those sequels put my girl through college,” he lifted his hand to summon the bartender. “Though I think she caught enough crap from her friends that it sort of balanced out. Whiskey on the rocks.”

 

“That’s right; you do have a kid.” She set her glass down, unsure of how to proceed and sure all in the same breath. Friendly conversation with a near stranger, a stranger who had occasionally watched her from the cover of magazines in the grocery store, looked distraught behind his shades on the tabloid covers. “How’s she doing?”

 

“Good,” said too quickly by him, eased with, “Better now. Things were rough after the divorce. We tried to make it as easy as possible on her, but it just…” he trailed off, offering a half-hearted shrug that didn’t disguise the defeated slump of his shoulders. “She had some issues. I think distance helps.”

 

“Usually does, when it comes to family.”

 

An easy hush slipped between them, broken by the bartender setting down Johnny’s drink. He nodded his thanks, and took a deep pull. Ava watched his Adam’s apple bob, then turned her eyes back to the dark ring left on her bar napkin from her glass.

“What about you? Any kids?” Like him to break the silence.

 

She snorted, shaking her head. “No.” Said flatly, without the slightest hint of regret. Chastened by the mild vitriol, he was quiet, looking down into his glass.

 

“…No wedding band either.”

 

“Could say the same for you.” Before the words were out of her mouth, she knew it was the wrong thing to say. Only by her tone, she had hoped to potentially soften the blow.

 

He laughed, a short thing, stopped by bitterness. “I deserved that,” he was darkly amiable, “Not like I got the luxury of following up on you short of the _Namaste Hot Yoga_ website.”

 

“You’ve been cyberstalking me?” Forgiveness was there, a hasty move to bury past wounds.

 

He looked flustered, before slipping into confidence. “Yeah – just to see.” He took in a breath, sounded like he was going to say more. Then closed his mouth, pressing his tongue into the side of his cheek. Ava felt a warmth in her face that she knew wasn’t the alcohol.

 

“…I’m flattered.” Genuinely from her; he’d earned that much. “Not much has changed,” she uncrossed her legs to recross them, right over left this time. “I still teach, still live in the same place. Still hate your chest tattoo with a passion.” She looked over at him, one eye playfully closed as she lifted her glass to her lips again.

 

His returning laugh was the final break through, echoing over the heads of the bar patrons. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“She was strong.” He tilted the glass in his hand, the ice jostling against the rim. “Maybe too strong. You know,” he raised the glass to his thin lips, and grimaced slightly at the bite. “If I could’ve told my younger self anything, it would have been that there’s different types of strength. That it’s possible for people to be strong past the point of being human. That they just get so hard that they spend all their time and energy squashing down anything that could have been soft and gentle because it’s been twisted into something they think is weak.” He ran a hand across his forehead. “If I could’ve spared Cass that harshness….God,” He set the glass down on the bar. “How much happier would she be now?”

 

She said nothing, watching as the melting ice in her drink created marble clear swirls. She lifted her eyes to her reflection in the mirror behind the bar, and allowed them to drift to the broken man next to her. When the silence became too much, inching closer to awkward, she placed a hand in the center of his back. The warmth of him bled through his thin shirt.

 

His shoulders shook, the gravel sound of his laughter reaching her ears a second later. “…You’re the worst at comforting. I spill my guts to you, and all I get is a pat on the back? Some yoga teacher you are.”

 

“I didn’t even have to do that,” she sniffed. Her cheeks were warm. Must be the drink. She turned back around in her seat so swiftly that her feet knocked into the brass runner under the stool. “I could have smacked you and told you to suck it up. People change. People aren’t who you think they are. People get divorced. Them’s the breaks.”

 

“Is ‘bitter’ the new ‘namaste’?”

 

As much as she didn’t want to, her mouth fought against her brain. She could feel the grin starting, no matter how much she tried to fold it down with a frown. Smiling would only encourage him.

 

“Don’t think ‘Them’s the breaks’ is going to be as catchy across t-shirts. Or maybe you could dress it up. ‘Whatever will be, shall be’ – ‘Don’t let the world steal your glow.’ ‘Rub this crystal on your third eye and let it go.’ Oo, the last two rhymed. You’re going to owe me royalties on that one. It’s going to make bank.”

 

“You’re insufferable.”

 

“It’s part of the Cage Charm. You’re lucky; I usually charge.”

 

This time, she did smile, though she tried to hide it as she took a sip from her drink. He leaned back, folding his arms behind his head. And in the reflection of the mirror, she saw his line of sight settle on her, and though his mouth was hidden by the rows of bottles, the lines, lightly etched as they were, beside his eyes curved up. Beneath the bar, his hand lightly stole across her thigh.

 

“Watch it, Cage.” It was half-hearted and they both knew it.

 

“I was looking for something I dropped.” His fingers along the line of her thigh, before landing across her left hand, settled against the warmth of her leg. “Found it.” His fingers laced through hers.

 

She laughed now, sputtering into her drink.

 

“Insufferable.”

 

“Keeps them coming back, though.”

 

 

 

 

 

History was kind enough to repeat itself. The hotel hallway, even ten years after, was familiar to her. She had a feeling that maybe the hotel room was the same, but a quick glance at the number and a thumbing through her hazy memory told her that it wasn’t. Before she could take the lead, his mouth was on hers, pressing her back against the door. His lips were cool, still holding traces of his rum and coke on them. His hands, still calloused, brushed against her cheek, cradling her face as he tilted it up into his. There was no gentleness or shyness there, not like in the past. This was hot, desperate - needy.

 

He couldn’t get them inside fast enough, his hands reluctantly parting from her body, from her fingers, to undress himself, then her, the only time he allowed for slowness. It was he that pushed her down onto the bed this time, he who draped his body over hers, and he that let out a low whine, confessing that he’d missed her, missed this, dreamed about it since that first encounter. But this time, Ava was the one that allowed herself tenderness, to let her hands, her body, speak the words that she wasn’t sure she had the strength to say. Her hands soft across the sides of his face, stroking the gray at his temples, the laugh lines that curved up when he leaned over, covering his mouth with her hand as he kissed her, his brows knitting as he thrust particularly hard into her. When the orgasm finally took her, after what felt to be eons of his careful teasing, of him edging her closer and closer but not allowing her to tumble over, she was past the point of screaming, and simply sighed his name against his lips - and tried to ignore the way her heart fluttered when he answered in turn, her name a whisper against her ear.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You never let me finish,” he whispered into the crook of her neck, his arms settled around her waist.

 

“Didn’t want to hear it. Wasn’t ready to hear it.” Huh. Maybe some wisdom did come with age. It was easier to be honest now, gentler in how she touched him. Her hands drifted over the expanse of his back, still muscular. Tracing the groove of his shoulder blade, she smiled into his hair as he grumbled, contentedly.

 

“And now?” Hot words against the column of her throat. She titled her head back, looking at the ornate light fixture above them.

 

“Maybe.”

 

“You’re not perfect. I thought so then.” It stung, but not as much as she thought it would have. She managed to smile, and resisted the urge to cut into his back with her nails.

 

“…You certainly have a way with words, Cage,” she said. Her own voice sounded distant to her.

He pulled away, shifting to his side. He looked at her now, the set of his mouth grim. “No. I mean, look, I know how that sounded. But you aren’t perfect. And neither am I. Though I come damn close.”

 

She laughed now, surprising herself that it swam past the pool of hurt that continued to fill her chest. “You’re insufferable.”

 

“So you’ve said.” His smile was easy. “Look.” He shifted again, cupping the sides of her face within his palms. “All joking aside-” He moved his thumb over her lips before she could speak, “I thought you were perfect then, because that night was too good to be true. Everything about you, from your nasty mouth and attitude to just…” he trailed off, his eyes dreamy. “You were unreal. And that was the problem. Nothing’s that good. Or so I thought. Then I met Sonya.”

 

He said it – the words that finally cut. She wanted to pull away, to untangle herself from him. To shatter the illusion that she had been building since she saw him. But she was older. Too old for these games. Too old to humor him, this room, whatever it was –

 

She shifted in the bed, trying to untangle himself from his arms. He clung to her tighter. “Hold on. Please.” He pressed his fingers harder into the sides of her face, bordering on painful. He eased his grip when she stilled. His tongue darted, small and pink, against his lower lip. “Sorry.” She wasn’t sure if he was apologizing for what he said, or the fact that he’d gripped her face too tightly. Unable to meet his eyes, Ava tried to find something within the room to focus on. The wallpaper directly over his shoulder seemed to fit the bill.

 

“Ava. Please. Look at me. I’m trying here. I really am.” His voice shivered, broke. He cleared his throat; licked his lips again. His bright blue eyes focused on her face. She forced herself to look back into his eyes, to focus on her own reflection within them. When she did, relief skipped across his face, before he forced it down.

 

“I met Sonya. And I still thought that there was perfection in the world. I thought I’d found that with you, and she reminded me of you. The same attitude – but…” He closed his eyes; shook his head. “Look. After some very expensive and lengthy therapy, I realized I’ve been chasing after something that didn’t exist, because it was easier to believe in something that didn’t exist because when I didn’t get it, I didn’t have to take the blame for it. It was like trying to catch a unicorn. Can’t catch something that’s not there, so it’s not your fault. And what I should have done, all those years ago, was that I should have actually let you be you and see what was right in front of me. What was actually real. Because, yeah. What I thought Sonya was wasn’t. I wouldn’t trade Cass for the world, and if I had to do it all over again to make sure I had my little girl, then I’d do it. But look. We’re here again, we’re both older. Grayer. Flabbier.”

 

She snorted, unable to stop herself. “Wiser, I hope,” she added, more of a whisper.

 

“Maybe. I did make _Ninja Mime 2_ , which a very important lady with very refined and elegant tastes called an ‘abortion,’ so, you know. Verdict’s still out.”

 

His smile blew away the coolness in her chest, filled it with warmth. She moved her hands so that they were over his, still cupping her face.

 

“So,” she moved closer, her lips close to his, “what are you trying to tell me, Cage?”

 

He smirked, trademark dazzling charm back. “What I should have told you years ago: I’m crazy about you. I know I just met you, but I want to get to know you better. I want to see where we can go.”

 

“Oh yeah?” She knew she was smiling, wider than she had in years.

 

“And she says I’m the smartass,” he leaned in. Kissed her.

 

And maybe it was as close to as perfect as real life got.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic and chapter title from the O'jays song, "This Time Baby."
> 
> It's a pretty awesome song.
> 
> Really.


End file.
